Black Dress Socks
by tigerlily0
Summary: Neal has trouble putting on his socks in the morning.


**Title: **Black Dress Socks  
**Fandom: **_White Collar_  
**Author: **tigerlily0  
**Rating: **K+ (a.k.a. PG)  
**Genre and/or Pairing: **gen/humor  
**Spoilers: **takes place after 1.6 _All In_  
**Warnings: **none  
**Word Count: **1000  
**Disclaimer: **_White Collar_ and its characters are property of its copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is taken from this story.

**Summary: **Neal has trouble putting on his socks in the morning.

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"Argh!" Neal grunted as he pulled the sock roughly off his foot, mashed it together angrily, and threw it as hard as he could across the room. Or, not really _across_ the room, as socks didn't really have the best aerodynamic properties. It went a few feet and fell silently to the floor. Neal glared at it. Not very satisfying. He got up and kicked it under the bed as hard as he could as he stomped his way over to the dresser to get another pair.

"God damn it!" Neal mumbled to himself. That was the third pair of his black dress socks that had been ruined in the last two weeks. Or, not really the _pair_ of socks, just the left-foot one. And he had accumulated a collection of unmatched right-foot socks. Now he had another one. Neal reached down and pulled the sock he was still wearing off his right foot and shoved it into the back of his sock drawer. He picked out another pair of his favorite black dress socks and sat back down on the bed to try one more time to get the left one under his anklet.

"Damn you," Neal said to the anklet, grabbing the attached electronic monitor and roughly shaking it. All he accomplished, though, was to hurt his own ankle. The damn thing wasn't budging. Neal shoved it away from him and sat back up straight.

Neal reflected back on when it had been put on originally. It had been done by the U.S. Marshals office at the prison before they had released him into the FBI's custody. Neal smiled a little to himself, his anger abating a bit. Those marshals really knew what they were doing (they probably put these things on people all the time, the ex-con figured). They had asked him which leg he wanted it on – it largely depended on which side he liked to sleep on, they'd said. And since he usually slept on his right side, he'd figured it would be most comfortable having it on the outside of his left leg.

They'd had him try it out, walk around with it. They'd adjusted it here and there until it was comfortable. And it was fine, good even. He was able to get his sock up underneath it easily enough. Although it did help, the well-dressed conman supposed, that the dress socks that he normally wore were made out of a thin material. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he needed to wear thick thermal socks or something like that (he shrugged, probably put the left one on over the monitor, something that wouldn't work with his usual dress socks).

Neal looked up and smiled, remembering the good old days. Then he shook his head at himself and snorted, yeah, right.

Whatever it was ended when he'd had to cut the anklet off as part of the stolen bible case (to prove to Maria Fiametta that he was really running). When the FBI had put it back on again at the church, they'd put it on too loose. Which you'd think would be a good thing. But, honestly, it was rather uncomfortable. Yeah, sure, he could get his sock on underneath it easily. But it kept falling down near his ankle and shoe, and twisting around to the inside, and just generally getting in his way. It was a pain in the neck. And he still couldn't pull it off over his foot (despite his repeated attempts – all he succeeded in doing was hurting his ankle and his heel). Neal grimaced and reached down to rub his ankle in remembered pain.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the next time it was put back on too tight. Neal lifted his left leg onto the bed and examined the anklet closely. He tried to move it around, get his fingers underneath it, anything. Nope, nothing doing. Definitely too tight. Neal sighed and put his foot back down on the floor.

During their Chinatown operation, they'd had to take it off twice when he'd gone to meet Lao Shen undercover as Nick Halden. Both times, Jones had been the one to put it back on. Obviously he didn't know what he was doing – or didn't care – because he put it on way too tight. Neal frowned, wishing he'd been paying more attention that last time and made sure it was comfortable, but honestly, the anklet was really the last thing on his mind right at that moment. Neal remembered – he'd just gotten that flash drive from Interpol agent Meilin Wan, supposedly containing the name of the man who had Kate, and he was anxious to get a look at it. Plus he'd been trying to figure out how much of his interaction with Meilin he could afford to tell (or not tell) Peter. So, yeah, he was a little distracted at the time. More's the pity.

Neal sighed and put his left foot back up onto the bed to try again to get the sock on. He examined his leg around the anklet, looking at the scars there. He'd been trying to get the damn socks up underneath the damn anklet using whatever he could lay his hands on – anything that was thin and straight and not flexible. A pen. Scissors. Whatever. Sometimes it worked, sometimes he scratched up his leg, sometimes (like today) he made holes in his socks.

Neal muttered curses to himself as he struggled once again to get the black dress sock up under the anklet. He swore that sometimes he got so frustrated, he just wanted to cut the goddamned anklet off, damn the consequences. Or not wear socks at all. Or get some of those short socks that women wear that would stay below the anklet. Just to avoid all this frustration...

Neal sighed with relief when he finally got the sock on, and went on to finish getting dressed. Maybe he should think about just not taking the sock off, now that he had finally gotten it on. As in never. Although he could just hear the reaction now ("_Neal, what's that smell?_")

Neal laughed to himself. Well, maybe someday soon there will be another occasion to take it off for a while, and this time, Neal swore to pay attention when it was being put back on!

* * *

**The End**


End file.
